Without You
by omi1
Summary: Tezuka and Atobe. Angst. Now with happy fluffy ending plus omake.
1. Without You

**without you**  
by omi

"I am to be married by the end of this year," Atobe announced distantly.

He stood in the center of the room, impeccably suited, the perfect picture of the haughty princeling. The only thing that gave him away were his fingers, compulsively smoothing the cufflinks at his sleeves.

Tezuka blinked.

"Ah," he said belatedly in response, and was silent. And then, he added stiffly, after a moment's thought. "Congratulations."

Atobe's lips twisted cursorily in a rough approximation of a smile.

"Really? I don't find all that much to be congratulated about, myself," answered Atobe with perfectly calculated disdain. He stalked towards the front of the window, and looked moodily out onto the quiet street below. "She's one of those Suzukis the banking and shipping ones, not the automobile ones. Our fathers play golf together." _And arranged this on their own,_ went unsaid.

Tezuka was quiet. 

It was an inevitable conclusion, really, something to be expected.

They were both male, both the only child of their families. There were social obligations and responsibilities to be met. And Atobe Tezuka's heart clenched within his chest Atobe had more responsibilities than most. The only heir to a vast fortune, the weight of the Atobe family's dynastic hopes on his shoulders. 

Ridiculous, really, to think they could stay together.

But. 

He thought they would have more time.

He thought he could hold the world off a little longer.

He thought he could let go when the time came. He thought that time would only come later.

And now, with everything slipping out of his grasp, Tezuka realised he was wrong. The world was spinning out of control perhaps it was never in his control in the first place, from the instant they stepped onto the courts to play each other, to the moment Atobe reached forward and pressed his lips against his, and he did not pull away immediately.

Atobe swung around. "They picked December 25 for the day," he said abruptly. "Will you come?"

An imperceptable shudder ran across Tezuka. He willed himself to stillness, not to shatter.

Atobe smiled then, his lips twisting with helplessness and of tightly restrained desperation. He walked over to Tezuka, made to bend, to touch, but hesitated. In the end, he straightened without touching Tezuka, and walked to the door.

He lingered there, his eyes swallowing the last sight of Tezuka, hungrily storing it against the drought of the days to come, and finally, walked away.

Days passed. Some inched on with painful slow clarity, others vanished in a grey haze. The weather cooled, and Tezuka continued with his final year thesis with the same deliberate care he applied to everything he undertakes. If his friends noticed that he was quieter than ever, no one said anything.

Most of the Seigaku team had gone on to attend the same university. Oishi, Inui and Fuji were in different faculties, but they made it a point to gather semi-regularly.

It was at one of such gatherings, when they met their old Hyoutei rivals at the same pub.

Oshitari strolled over, glass in hand, nodding politely at them.

"How are you, Oshitari-san?" asked Oishi politely.

Oshitari lifted an elegant shoulder, "Ah, same old, same old..." he drawled. "Someone's getting married tomorrow, though." He said, lifting his glass to his lips. Dark blue eyes barely flickered towards Tezuka's face. 

There was a moment of silence, then Fuji caught the verbal gauntlet and deftly flung it back, "Sa... Oshitari-kun, you've finally gotten one of your girlfriends pregnant and taking responsibility for your actions?"

Oshitari choked, spewing his gin and tonic all over himself and onto half the table. 

In the the general scramble for napkins and cleaning up, the earlier announcement was forgotten and Oshitari was dragged back by his ex-teammates. When the genius from Hyoutei was safely away, an embarassed silence fell around the table.

"Tezuka" Three seperate voices sounded in unison around the table.

Tezuka pushed away from the table. "Excuse me," he said simply, ignoring the startlement of his friends as he simply walked out without coat or scarf.

He did not know where he was going, the neon lights and sounds of the city streets blaring in a muted roar in his ears. He didn't even realise someone was behind him, calling his name, until a warm hand caught his arm, and swung him around.

"Tezuka!" Oishi breathed heavily, his breath coming out in small white puffs from his nose and mouth. He awkwardly draped Tezuka's own coat around his shoulders, and a scarf around his neck. "You'll catch your death, walking around in the cold like that without your coat." Concern shone in his face, and Oishi braced Tezuka with both hands.

"Tezuka, I" Oishi, honest, dependable Oishi started to say, but could not continue.

Tezuka looked at his oldest friend. "Thank you," he said simply. And trusting that Oishi would understand, as he had always understood, Tezuka walked away. Alone.

He went back to the apartment they had shared.

The door swung open under his touch.

Tezuka walked through the familiar rooms, his scarf, then his coat fell onto the floor as he walked further in, towards the bedroom.

It was dark inside, with only the ambient light of the city streets streaming in the window. 

But it was enough to light up the fully-dressed figure lying spreadeagled on the bed.

Something within Tezuka's chest loosened, and gave way. He moved to stand at the foot of the bed, looking down at the figure.

Without opening his eyes, Atobe murmured, "It's my last night of freedom."

"Ah." 

His hands raised up, like a child's seeking warmth, reaching unerringly towards Tezuka.

The sex that night was rough and frantic. Desperate.

He covered Atobe's body in bruising kisses, determined to leave his mark, and Atobe was more than willing to go along with it. He arched under the onslaught of the kisses and caresses, wrapped his legs around Tezuka's waist.

He left his own marks on Tezuka, a bite mark on his shoulder, sucking hard at the side of his neck.

It was their last night together. And then, their last morning.

As the cold grey light dawned, Atobe moved from Tezuka's side.

"I have to go."

"..." 

Atobe smiled wryly. He pressed a kiss onto Tezuka's forehead, and, gathering his clothes, walked out of the room and out of Tezuka's life.

It was a lovely ceremony, everyone agreed.

The bride was gorgeous, the groom, almost too handsome for words. Everyone who was anyone were there to attend the union of the two great fortunes of Japan.

No one noticed a quiet young man who slipped unobtrusively into the hall at the last minute, who took care to stand at the very back away from everyone's eyes.

He stood there as the bride and groom drank to each other's health, through the long winding speeches from their respective parents, from the groom's best man, and the bride's best friend.

He watched silently from afar, his eyes fastened to the groom, as he took his bride's hand, and led her up the aisle to where the priest waited.

Silently in his mind, Tezuka thinks, an eternity too late, _Let's run away_.

And in his heart, Atobe replies, _Yes_, even as his bride says, 'I do'.

fini.


	2. Drift

**Drift  
by omi**

Oshitari Yuushi would be the first to admit he was not the most hardworking person alive. Sometime early on in his childhood, a young Oshitari came to the wonderful realisation that it was much easier to coast through life if you didn't make waves, didn't try to be too clever, if you didn't attract too much attention from all the wrong people.

He would devote the next eighteen years of his life finetuning to perfection the balance between putting in enough effort to do well, but not well enough to attract envy or too much attention. To be friendly, but not out-going. Attentive, but not concerned. Charming, but not flamboyant.

'Perfection in a lower key' his teammates would joke. Oshitari simply smiled and shrugged them off. They may laugh all they want, he thought, even as he smiled good-humouredly, but it was a modus operandi that worked.

There were always exceptions, of course.

Fuji, for one.

Atobe, for another.

They came crashing blindly into his life, past his carefully positioned boundaries, invading his world with breath-taking matter-of-fact ease. They planted themselves firmly into practically every detail of his life. Oshitari could barely turn before an aristocratic nose pried itself in his business, or where slender, almost delicate-looking fingers poke and sieve through his emotions before he himself could sort through it. They were important, in a way few things are, to him.

Which was why when the news broke that Atobe's parents had arranged a marriage for him -- a politically-motivated linkage between two of Japan's richest families -- Oshitari prepared himself for the fallout.

After all, he had been there from the start. He was there when Atobe announced with typical flamboyancy that he and Tezuka were 'stepping out together'. He saw how Atobe's face lit up after every phone call with Tezuka, and tactfully ignored the glow surrounding him after every date.

Given Atobe's temperament, Oshitari readied himself for everything ranging from outright rebellion to immediate elopment to Germany on the Atobe's private jet.

What he wasn't expecting was the deafening silence from both Atobe and Tezuka.

Atobe came back that day, seemingly unchanged in every way, except for his eyes. Oshitari would never forget how his eyes looked that day. Pools of dead water above a frozen, arrogant smile.

Oshitari wanted to shake him, wanted to knock some sense into him, sit him in front of a pitcher of whiskey sours -- something, _anything_, to get rid of the deadness in his eyes. Instead, he was helpless. There was nothing he could say, nothing he do, to help. He could only watch on as Atobe turned quieter and quieter as the days passed.

So, it felt very much like karma, when he walked into a bar with some of his ex-classmates, the day before Atobe's wedding, and found Tezuka and Fuji and a couple others from Seigaku there too. He would have ignored them -- really, he would have, except Tezuka looked so fucking _normal_.

He ordered a gin and tonic that was mostly gin, took a decent slug, and walked over.

The former Seigaku fuku-buchou greeted him politely, "How are you, Oshitari-san?"

Oshitari lifted an elegant shoulder, "Ah, same old, same old..." he drawled. "Someone's getting married tomorrow, though." He said, lifting his glass to his lips again. Dark blue eyes barely flickered towards Tezuka's face.

There was still no visible change on Tezuka's face, no involuntarily flinch, no wince, no sadness. Oshitari's lips curled, and he knocked back the rest of his drink just as Fuji spoke up.

"Sa... Oshitari-kun, you've finally gotten one of your girlfriends pregnant and taking responsibility for your actions?" he asked innocently, eyes crinkled in a quizzical smile.

Oshitari choked then, spewing his gin and tonic all over himself and onto half the table. _Girlfriend? PREGNANT--?!_

There was a general scramble for napkins and mad dabbing at sodden shirts and sweaters, and one of his classmates finally lost his patience and came over to strongarmed him back to their group. Tezuka left soon after.

Good, thought Oshitari with just the slightest bit of spite, as he watched the other man make his way out of the pub without coat or hat. Maybe his words had had an effect on the bastard after all, and he carefully avoided looking Fuji's way for the rest of the evening. Not that he stayed that much longer. Oshitari downed his last drink for the evening with a savageness that drew strange and concerned looks from his friends and bid everyone a curt farewell, ignoring protests from his friends.

His mood lasted all the way home, back to his apartment.

His keychain jangled as he opened the door, the silver cold within his hand. The place was empty and cold, with only the smell of old cigarette smoke lingering in the air.

He collapsed onto the sofa, and stared blankly at the walls.

It wasn't too long before the door creaked open again, and soft footsteps padded and came to a stop before him.

"Ah, the pregnant girlfriend returns," said Oshitari dryly. "Of course I'll take responsibility and marry you. Just as soon as the pregnancy kit comes back positive."

Fuji dropped his keys onto the table and curled up onto the sofa next to Oshitari. "Never challenge a genius," he said with a faint smile. "I might just do that."

"What? Come back pregnant?" Oshitari answered, his eyebrows lifting.

Fuji smiled, catlike and secretive. "Maybe."

"You do that. And maybe Atobe will find another lover, and maybe Tezuka would know what it is like to get his heart broken. If he has one." His breath huffed out in contempt.

Fuji's smile dropped away for an instant, as he struggled between the urge to defend his best friend and the urge to smack Oshitari. Then his gaze fell upon Oshitari's clenched hand, and he was lost.

Sighing, Fuji tucked his chin onto the crook of Oshitari's neck and shoulder. "You're a romantic, Yuushi," murmured Fuji, his breath warm on the fine black wavy hair and pale pale skin there. "But we can't force happy endings on people... They have to look for their own happy endings themselves."

"I know," said Oshitari softly, and his arm came up around Fuji. He tugged slightly and Fuji came without resistance, into his arms. They sat there, arms around each other, quietly, until Fuji tilt his head up. "We can always elope if I get pregnant, or if your family or mine make us get married to some female person."

A smile slowly grew on Oshitari's face. "I always wanted to go to Tahiti," he said, even as his hands slipped lower, and vanished beneath Fuji's clothes. A half-laugh, half-gasp escaped from Fuji. "What, now? Here?" he laughed, even as he arched his back cooperatively.

"Why not? I'm willing to try if you are," murmured Oshitari suggestively against Fuji's bared throat. His hands fondled Fuji's stomach for a while, before dipping lower. "You did say you wanted to get pregnant..."


	3. In the Name of the Son

**In the Name of the Son  
by omi**

The birth of the Atobe heir was a momentous event, involving months of preparation, rehearsals and split-second coordination involving a small army of servants, nurses, a medical team of the top obstetricians, a newly refurbished surgical operating room in the south wing of the Atobe mansion as well as the Atobe family's personal physician on 24-hour standby.

Which was why when the first labour pangs hit the younger Mrs Atobe, her personal assistant -- a calm and eminently level-headed matron -- swung into immediate, well-rehearsed action. She and a maid helped Mrs Atobe into a wheelchair, and the butler and the midwife were simultaneously summoned. The butler made several discreet phonecalls, first to the attending obstetrician, then to the elder Mr and Mrs Atobe, to Young Master Keigo who was still at work in the office, and finally to the nanny who had undergone several rounds of rigorous selection before her final appointment; the midwife's sole responsibility was to ensure the continual wellbeing of Mrs Atobe and her unborn son.

Within ten minutes, the expectant mother was comfortably ensconced in the delivery bed, the midwife and obstetricians were in attendance and the strains of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 24 in C minor, Mrs Atobe's favourite piece of music, was playing in the background.

All that was left, was the actual birth itself.

Atobe Keigo was in his office when he received the call informing him of his son's incipient arrival into the world. He had none of the usual new father-to-be nerves, indeed, he exhibited no signs of excitement or interest whatsoever. After the phonecall, he completed his meeting with his client with his usual flair, and went on to approve or disapprove the various proposals on his desk, according to each's merits, before finally calling it a day.

By the time he reached home, his parents were already anxiously waiting in the living room suite off the delivery room.

"Father, mother," Atobe greeted his parents coolly with an slight incline of his head as he entered the room.

His father grunted in response, and continued to stare at the door of the delivery room. His mother looked at him reproachfully. "Keigo, you're late," she said with a hint of disapproval in her impeccably made-up face. "Michiko has already been in there for the past five hours."

"Aah," said Atobe noncommittally. He didn't _hate_ his parents for foisting this unwanted marriage and child on him, not precisely, not when he knew they meant well. But he couldn't bring himself to forgive them either. Without a word, he seated himself on the sole chair, away from his parents, and waved off the offer of tea from the maid.

The butler came forward then, bowing, a bouquet of champagne roses and an elegant box of cuban cigars in hand, and left them on the table next to Atobe with a murmured, "Congratulations, Young Master."

Atobe nodded absently, and stared at the roses, strumming his fingers to a complex beat.

_Two years._ That was how long it took for him and his new stranger-wife to come to an agreement. From utter strangers, to a grudging acceptance, to a slow resignation that finally led to a mutual understanding and acceptance built on the simple fact that they might as well make the best of their situation.

Suzuki Michiko was the perfect wife, the perfect mate. She was beautiful; she was kind; she was understanding. She was trained from birth to grace the side of her husband, to manage his household and be the mother of his children.

But for all her beauty and virtues, _she wasn't Tezuka Kunimitsu._

And that encapsulated the tragedy of their marriage.

The door of the delivery room opened, and the midwife bustled out, beaming. "Congratulations, congratulations! Mrs Atobe has given birth to a big healthy son, and both mother and child are doing very well."

Atobe's parents got up to their feet, laughing delightedly and started for the delivery room. "How wonderful--!" "Our first grandchild!" "Keigo, hurry up!" His mother beaming, beckoning him to join them.

Atobe got up to his feet, gathered the roses and cigars, and entered the delivery room. His parents had made a beeline for the baby, a tight little knot of nurses, and a tiny mewling bundle wrapped up in a soft blue blanket. Atobe made his rounds, accepting the congratulations from the doctors and staff with equanimity and dispensing cigars left, right and center as he went.

Finally, he shook off the wellwishers, and approached the bed. His wife was in it, pale, hair still damp with perspiration, dark circles under her eyes, and a tiredness about her face that was impossible to disguise.

He handed her the roses. "Thank you," he said. "It has been difficult for you."

She smiled faintly as she accepted the bouquet. "Have you seen our son?"

"No, not yet," he shook his head, and turned to look at his parents, still cooing over the small bundle. "Soon." He turned back to look at his wife. "You should rest now."

"Mmm..." Michiko nodded and obediently closed her eyes. Her head sank deeper in the pillow.

Atobe gently brushed a stray lock of hair off his wife's forehead and waited a little longer to be certain that she is resting, before making his way to his parents and son.

"Look, Keigo. He looks just like you!" His mother laughed.

Atobe took his child into his arms, just a little awkwardly, and carefully peeled back the blanket to get his first good look at his son's red tiny scrunched up face. "God, I hope not!" the words slipped out before he could help himself.

"Silly boy, all babies look like that when they are just minutes old. But see, see his eyes? and that nose! Aha! That is pure Atobe." His mother brushed a gentle, be-ringed finger across the baby's cheek and crooned softly to the baby.

Atobe shifted a little. The baby weighed practically nothing in his arms. Hard to believe that this is a totally new individual being. His old tennis bag weighed heavier than that -- not that he had much opportunity to carry his own bag, of course...

He extended a tentative finger towards his son, caught the tiny waving fists. The baby latched on to his finger and quieted. His heart stirred, inexplicably moved despite himself. This tiny life in his arms was the culmination of his blood and Michiko's. This was his future. His arm tightened slightly around the baby. This is his treasure. To protect. To teach. To love unconditionally. His son.

"Have you decided on his name?" his father asked.

Atobe looked at his son for a long moment. The tiny face, the shock of dark hair, the tiny perfect hand gripping his finger like there was nothing else in the world. _His son!_

Atobe took a deep breath. Thought of sharp brown eyes concealed by glasses and heartache. Thought of the pain of love that had no future. Thought, for the first time, of the little, _little_ joys. Of normalcy, of steadfastness, of fierce loyalty, and a sweet nature.

"... Munehiro," he said, finally. "My son's name is Atobe Munehiro."


	4. Epilogue

Epilogue:

"My son will NOT come to such plebeian places like the park and mingle with the commoners!" Atobe burst out angrily, his eyes flaring in agitation.

"He needs friends," came the stubborn reply.

"Munehiro already has friends! I have personally hand-picked companions for him in every stage of his mental and physical development until he's seventeen!" Atobe glared down at Tezuka.

"If he had real friends, he wouldn't be walking up and talking to strangers in the park like he did to me." Tezuka looked back coldly, his eyebrows knitting together.

Their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills, neither willing to give way. They remained like that for a minute or longer.

A single leaf drifted down between them.

And suddenly, the absurdity of the situation struck them. The glare on Atobe's face softened. "Are we really fighting about whether Munehiro's childhood development would be affected if he came to the park to play?" He asked somewhat plaintively.

"Hn," replied Tezuka, his brow smoothing back out, a slight ease of posture that hinted at relaxation of previously tense muscles.

Atobe sighed. "It's hard being a widower-father."

Tezuka looked up and quietly shifted slightly over on the bench, a silent invitation. Atobe took two steps closer and sat next to Tezuka, his leg crossed loosely at his knee. They sat like that, close, but not quite touching each other for a long moment. Atobe fought down the impulse to shift closer along the bench and leveled a single sidelong look at Tezuka. "You look good," he commented.

And it was true. The years have been more than kind to Tezuka. The same spare bone structure that made him look older than his years when he was just a teenager were now refined and burnished with experience. He looked capable, with a quiet assurance about him. A man to be admired, a man to be looked up to. A beautiful man, his heart added silently.

There was another long period of silence. Atobe twitched a little. "That was your cue to tell me how good I looked too, by the way," he said, with just a touch of frost in his voice.

"Really?" Tezuka looked back at him, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

Atobe narrowed his eyes. "Tezuka Kunimitsu..." He stopped at the faint smile that was slowly curling his lover's mouth. A sweet smile, with so much affection in it that it almost stopped his heart.

Emotion swelled, filled his throat. He lowered his head, his perfectly coiffed hair -- with hardly a trace of silver in it -- fell obliging over his eyes, hiding his face from anyone who might see. "--missed you," he said very softly into ground, because Atobes never let anyone see weakness or vulnerability in public, never showed anything less than their best in front of people.

A hand moved and covered the top of his hand firmly. "Hn," said Tezuka, looking very straight ahead. His hand tightened slightly over his, a silent promise to never let go.

They sat there, two men on a park bench, not touching, except for a single hand resting on top of another.

_(and because i couldn't let well enough alone, an epilogue to the epilogue)_

They sat like that for an eternity, until a little boy about six ran up and tugged at Atobe's pants. "They have ice cream, papa," he announced with all the solemnness that a six-year-old could muster. "Chocolate ice cream."

"Really?" asked Atobe with mock surprise.

"Uh-huh," nodded the boy. Dark eyes like his father's, darted from his papa to the tall quiet uncle next to him, and back again. "Maybe Uncle Tezuka likes chocolate ice cream too," he said, hopefully.

Both Atobe and Tezuka fought back smiles. Tezuka smiled. "Definitely your son," he murmured to Atobe.

"You had doubts?" Atobe murmured back as he arched an single elegant eyebrow. He turned back to his anxiously waiting son. "So where are they selling this chocolate ice cream?" he smiled at his son.

A great beam lit up the boy's face. He pulled at his father's and Tezuka's linked hands, almost falling over backwards in his anxiety to hurry them up. "It's over there! Hurry, papa! Hurry!" The instant the adults got off the bench, the little boy was off and running, whooping as he went.

They walked in the late summer afternoon's sun, two men, and a boy running before them, towards the soft tinkle of the ice cream truck.


	5. Omake

**as time goes by  
by omi**

Atobe stared critically at his reflection in the full length mirror. It wasn't as if he lacked confidence in his appearance, of course not, the very thought was absurd. He was an Atobe after all.

But still... Atobe took a step closer to the mirror. There were certain Facts of Life that had to be faced after thirty years had come and gone.

Like the slightest sprinkling of silver amidst his still-thick hair that weren't there a year ago. Or the small network of wrinkles around his eyes that sprang into being when he smiled or frowned. To Atobe's greatest regret, his skin no longer possessed the same dewy perfection it was in his youth, even with judicious applications of some really expensive lotions.

At least his body was still in good shape. While he may not weigh the same as he did when he was twenty, practically all the extra weight was pure muscle, thought Atobe complacently as he ran his fingers past taunt six-pack abs. An hour every morning in the gym, and two hours playing with Munehiro in the afternoon, every day for the past six years, had kept him in tip-top condition.

And really, what was a couple of grey hairs and wrinkles? In fact, Atobe rather thought they gave his face a certain distinction. He ran his fingers through his hair one final time, making sure it fell into place perfectly, and reached for his robe.

He tied the sash in a smooth, but not too tight knot, and studied his reflection for a moment longer before stepping out of his dressing room and into the bedroom where his lover awaited.

Tezuka looked up at his approach. "What, no sartorial surprise? No ruffles? No purple feather boa?" he asked in mock surprise.

Atobe sniffed haughtily. "Perfection does not require embellishment." He paused, then added somewhat ruefully, "But at our age, it does take more time."

Tezuka smiled, his eyes bright with amusement and some other emotion. "Good point," he agreed.

"So," said Atobe. "Here we are again."

"Hn."

They stood there, just one meter apart, one clad in a white robe, the other with just a towel casually wrapped around his hips.

And then they fell upon each other, had mind-blowing sex, and a few months later adopted two more children since Munehiro wanted siblings, and they all lived happily ever after.

fin


End file.
